Santa on Atkin's
by 1derland pixie
Summary: A young Harry tells a mysterious old man his Christmas wish. Please just humor me folks :


A/N: I know, I know! It's not even near Christmas time yet, but I just really wanted to write this. If I had waited until Christmas, then I would have forgotten about this. I have a very short memory :) I ask that 1) people please review, even if it's just one word, and 2) people please take into consideration that it's summer and my brain stops working in summer, so please forgive any stupid errors! Thanks!  
Disclaimer: Yeah, Yeah. I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter! 

The last day of school before Christmas break is usually a joyous day for children. The last bell signals the end of classes for 3 weeks, much to the children's delight. Unfortunately for Harry, this bell tolls out his funeral knell. No school means more time with the Dursleys.

This was Harry's first year at school, and he had come to enjoy getting away from his aunt and uncle, if not his cousin. The bell that day seemed to have a more menacing tone than usual, for Harry had received a letter from his teacher to give to his aunt and uncle.

On the way home, Harry racked his brain for anything he could have done wrong. He was considering hiding the note, but as he walked through the door his hopes were shattered when his cousin yelled, "Mom, Harry got in trouble at school, and the teacher sent home a letter!"

Aunt Petunia threw down the dishcloth she was holding and glared at Harry, who was frozen in fear. She seized him by his arm and threw him, hard, into his cupboard. "You stay in there until your uncle comes home," she snarled through the door.

Harry sighed in despair. This Christmas break was not starting off well at all.

After dinner that night, which Harry was forced to make, yet not allowed to eat, Uncle Vernon opened the ominous letter. Harry remained deathly still and studied his trainers. He could feel the anger radiating off his uncle as he read the letter.

"Well, what does it say, Vernon? What has the boy done now?" his aunt asked.

"That women," (Harry assumed this was his teacher) "feels that the boy is depressed and maybe misses those freak parents of his. She suggests we talk to him or bring him to a psychiatrist," his uncle spat out. "Boy!" he said turning to Harry, "What have you been telling that teacher of yours."

"N-n-nothing, h-honest," stuttered a frightened Harry.

"Lies!" bellowed his uncle, "After all we've done for you and given you, you have the gall to lie to me and that teacher." He grabbed Harry by his arms and lifted him out of his chair so they were on the same level. "You will go to your cupboard and stay there and be grateful we didn't send you to an orphanage."

And with that, he dropped Harry to the floor, a long way to travel for such a small boy, and watched as he scrambled to the cupboard. Once Harry had entered the dark hell-hole, his uncle slammed the door shut and locked the door.

Harry sat on the floor and ran gentle fingers over his body feeling for injuries. His arms hurt from where his uncle had grabbed him. He suspected there would be bruises there in the morning. Also his knee hurt terribly from when he fell, he just wasn't sure of the extent of the injury.

Harry brought his unhurt knee up to his chest and wrapped both arms around it. Silently he rocked back and forth, willing himself not to cry. Unfortunately, Harry lost the battle as shiny tears poured down his small face.

Old, yet classic, Christmas songs played from the speakers in the crowded store. It was Christmas Eve, and Harry was being dragged along by his aunt for some last minute shopping. Uncle Vernon had taken Dudley to one of his friend's party leaving Harry to act as pack-mule for his aunt.

The store was packed with people on their last minute shopping spree, and Harry was finding it hard to keep up with his aunt, especially because he was so burdened down by all the packages. It also didn't help that he was so tiny; people kept shoving him and tripping over him.

One man was in such a hurry, that he banged right into the child, causing them both to lose their balance and fall to the ground hard. The man muttered what sounded like an apology, gathered his bags, and quickly left.

Little Harry tried his best to pick up all his bags without getting his fingers smashed in the process. Regrettably, he was quite unsuccessful, but he finally managed to retrieve all his bags. Standing up, he looked around the sea of people for hi aunt. Harry's eyes widened in fear, he couldn't find his aunt anywhere.

Trying not to panic, he battled his way through the crowd looking for her red and white striped sweater. After 10 minutes of fruitless searching, he was ready to give in to the tears that were threatening to spill down his pale cheeks.  
Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Gasping, Harry turned around to face an ancient man with long white hair and a long white beard. Staring straight at Harry was a pair of twinkling blue eyes above a warm smile. The man seemed very nice even if he was dressed in a peculiar red suit with a white trim. Harry felt at ease around this strange individual.

"Well hello there," said the man gently. "Are you lost little one?"

Harry only nodded, the panic of losing his aunt robbing him of his voice. Also the fear of his coming punishment was keeping him silent.

"How about you stay with me, and I'll help you find your family," the old man said with a smile. Harry nodded gratefully; he really liked this man.

The man bent down and relieved Harry of his burdens. Once Harry had both hands free, a wrinkled, yet slender, hand gently encased the smaller hand, and they both set off for a quieter section of the store.

When the threat of being run over had diminished, the old man stopped and turned around to face Harry, who was following meekly behind. "Who was in the store with you, little one?" he asked.

"My aunt," came the quiet reply.

"What was she wearing?"

"A red and white striped sweater." The answer was barely audible. Harry was getting more frightened with every passing minute he was away from his aunt. It wasn't that he didn't like the man, it was just that he knew that the longer he was gone, the worst the punishment would be.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the man and the boy. "What would like for Christmas?" asked the man breaking the silence.

Harry thought for a bit; no one had asked him that before. "My parents," said the boy with a child's innocence.

There was a long silence while the man looked sadly at Harry. "I'm sorry child, but there isn't anything powerful enough to grant that wish. What else would you like Santa to bring you?"

Again, Harry had to stop and think for a while. His thoughts drifted to the other day when Dudley was eating a candy cane. It had looked so good! That's what he wanted.

"A candy cane, but I won't get one because my uncle says I'm a bad boy, and Santa doesn't bring presents for bad boys," Harry mumbled. The man looked even sadder, but his eyes twinkled more than ever.

"Do you like your relatives?" he asked looking Harry straight in the eyes.

"No," he said immediately. Wait, that wasn't what he was going to say. He was going to say "yes". What was going on?

"Why not?"

Harry couldn't answer that. He could still remember Uncle Vernon's threat if he was ever to tell anyone about the going-ons of 4 Pivet Drive. Instead he looked at the worn floor. He could hear the man sigh.

Suddenly a shrill voice could be heard above the racket in the store. Tugging on the old man's coat he said, "I hear my aunt now. I'll just go to her."

The man knelt down to Harry's level and patted his sides. "Merry Christmas, Harry," he said. Straightening up, he handed Harry all of his bags and disappeared in the crowd.

Before Harry could even comprehend what had happened, a rough hand grabbed his arm painfully and pulled him out of the store. "Just wait until we get home, boy," Aunt Petunia hissed into his ear.

Harry sat in his cupboard later that evening, crying softly into his pillow. As soon as he got home, his uncle had yelled at him harshly for abandoning his aunt while she was forced to carry her newest purchases, and had confined him to his cupboard for 2 days without food.

Harry sat up in bed abruptly and wiped his wet face with his too long sleeve. With a determination rare in such a small child, he quietly told Santa Claus what he wanted for Christmas. He decided that if Santa was always watching them, then he was always listening to them, too.

He wished for a loving mother and father. A mother who would hold him in her lap and read him stories, just like what Aunt Petunia was doing then with Dudley. He wished for a father who would sit beside them and ruffle Harry's hair. Well, if that was too much to wish for, he would at least like a candy cane.

"Be quiet in there!" a voice demanded gruffly.

Harry sighed. Maybe he could just draw a picture instead. Harry silently grabbed a scrap of paper and sat down near the crack at the bottom of the door. There was just enough light seeping through that Harry could draw by it.

Reaching into his pocket to get his pencil, he felt something very different. Taking the object out of his pocket, Harry was surprised to find a candy cane. Sadly though, he couldn't find his pencil so his plan to draw was no more. Instead, Harry decided to go to sleep.

Laying in bed and clutching his precious candy cane, Harry thought about everything that had happened that day. Harry gasped in recognition. That old man must have been Santa Claus. He looked just like Santa Claus except that he didn't have a big belly, but maybe he was on a diet like his uncle. It all made sense! Harry had told him he wanted a candy cane and he got one. He also knew Harry's name, even though Harry never told him.

Harry smiled even bigger as his eyelids started to droop. Seconds later, he sleeping peacefully.


End file.
